


Invisible Boy

by WillPJackson



Series: Not Like a Brother [2]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow jobs (imagined), Canon typical references to drug use, Clustin, Fuzzy legal advice, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post episode s02e12 The Box of Polaroids, References to Canon Sexual Assault, Reflection on implied canon events, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillPJackson/pseuds/WillPJackson
Summary: With Justin now behind bars, how will his relationship with Clay and his family be affected?





	1. Inertia

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few theories on the jump between episode 12 and 13. I initially thought the jump was to imply that Jessica's trial was a rehash of the entire season with the school trial, so we didn't need to see that all over again. But, in relation to Justin, I had thought either nothing of significance happened while he was in lock up or it will be explored in flashbacks in season 3.
> 
> In any case, I saw too much potential just to gloss over this period of time. Really, it gave me a chance to explore Justin's character even more without the confines of the show's plot--at least for a little while. And, all bets are off once season 3 debuts.

It was the third day before Justin had any visitors. He honestly hadn’t had any clue as to when he might be allowed any, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. The news brought a simultaneous surge of both relief—and fear. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face Clay, or if he’d even show up. As the guard placed the shackles on his wrists, then his ankles, Justin convinced himself it was more likely going to be Mrs. Jensen. He lined up with the others, his jumpsuit making him blend into a long wall of orange.

By the time the guards had escorted everyone down the long, stark corridor leading to visitation, Justin felt his anxiety grow spikes inside of his stomach. He was the last one in line, so he thought he’d braced himself to see Mrs. Jensen, but when the guard directed him towards the only unoccupied stall remaining at the furthest end of the room, he wasn’t prepared to see Clay behind the glass as well, standing behind Mrs. Jensen.

They both looked about as well as he felt, himself. Clay probably worse off, with his slightly puffy eyes—was he having trouble sleeping again? Mrs. Jensen seemed exhausted, too. Justin really hoped they weren’t fighting again.

Justin picked up the phone hanging off the side of the glass as Mrs. Jensen did the same. “Hello, Justin.”

It was weird, to see her right in front of him, but to only hear her voice through the earpiece. “Hey,” he said. Clay had leaned in towards the earpiece as well.

“I’m sorry we didn’t come to see you earlier. It took time to wrest your case from the public defender, and then to get approval from the warden for visitation. Given our—situation, I don’t really have a lot of sway at the moment.”

“I understand.”

“How are you holding up?”

Justin tried to keep his eyes on Mrs. Jensen, but he couldn’t help glancing towards Clay. Just how well could he hear him through this thing?

“It’s fine, I guess,” Justin forced himself to say. “It’s pretty much like detention, but all the time. And with the occasional handcuffs.” He flashed the shackles on his wrists.

It seemed like Clay nearly broke a smile. Mrs. Jensen only seemed to become even more serious. “Justin,” she said, “I would have liked to tell you this in a more private setting, but I didn’t want to wait another day, or quite possibly another week. Given the gravity of the charges, and your time spent—missing, on the streets, I haven’t been able to convince the judge to grant bail for you. And with your—recovery, it seems as though a—controlled environment has been deemed the safer option for you.”

Justin swallowed. “I understand,” he said simply. He’d already guessed, anyway. It was a big place, but not big enough that he wouldn’t have run into Bryce already.

“Don’t lose hope,” Mrs. Jensen went on. “I’m going to keep trying. But—another complicating factor is the fact that, getting back to my earlier point, we really don’t have any legal relationship with you. Clay seems to think that you’d be against this, but if we could find your mother, it could be a big step in securing your release.”

He met Clay’s eyes for a moment before looking back towards Mrs. Jensen. “I don’t know where she is, or where she would go. Trust me—she, she really wouldn’t be that much help.”

Clay and his mom looked at each other before she stood up and handed the phone to him. She grasped his shoulder before saying something to him and stepping out of view. Clay sat down and held the phone up to his ear. Justin averted his gaze. He was having a hard time looking at the boy.

“Justin,” he heard Clay say through the earpiece. “I’d asked my mom to give us a little time alone. How are you doing, really?”

“I told you, I’m fine. Really.”

After a moment, when Clay said nothing, Justin looked back at him. “You don’t look like it,” Jensen said, and it was like he could’ve said the same thing back to Clay.

It broke his heart to see him like this, nearly on the brink of tears. The need for a hit flared within Justin as he realized this was all his fault, and again, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He sniffed, tried to swallow the tears clawing up his throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clay eventually uttered.

Justin cleared his throat. “Would you have tried to stop me?”

“I—I don’t know. No. Maybe. Probably. If—if I knew you might, might wind up in here.”

“Because it was all for nothing?”

“No—no, it wasn’t for nothing.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“You, you did a really brave thing. And we got Bryce—we’re going to get him, now, for sure. Now that we have Jessica.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t think he even spent a night in lockup. I hate that she’ll have to go through this all over again. That you… And for what? Look what happened with the school—you really think things will be different this time?”

“Yes, I do! I have to! You—you can’t think like that, Justin. You _can’t_ lose hope.”

As much as Justin tried to avert his eyes, Clay seemed to do nothing but stare at him, like he couldn’t look at anything else. Justin took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he said.

“Well, I’m worrying now. Promise me, Justin— _promise me_ , you’ll look out for yourself in here.”

Justin met his eyes and gave him a small nod. “Did you—have you said anything to your folks?”

“I haven’t. I, I was kind of hoping we’d—we’d be able to do that together.” Clay smiled at him.

Despite everything, Justin couldn’t help giving a small smile in return. “What would we even say to them?”

“Trust me, I am no closer than you are with finding a subtler way of saying, ‘By the way, we’ve been sleeping together and—doing not so heterosexual things to each other.’”

They laughed.

As another spike grew in his throat, Justin realized the only way to stem any possible tears was to let them speak. “I’ve missed you,” he uttered.

He heard Clay sniffle, and saw him swallow. “I’ve missed you, too.” He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna visit you every day.”

Justin chuckled. “Clay, you can’t. I only get visitation once a week.”

“Well, I’m—going to visit you every week. What day is it? Wednesday! Every Wednesday, I’ll be here.” After a moment, when his smile faded, Clay leaned forward. “Are you _sure_ you don’t have any idea where your mom might be?”

“Dude, when I took that money, she said Seth would kill her if he found her, so I left her enough and told her to make sure he couldn’t find her. If you’re having trouble tracking her down, it probably means she did something smart for once in her life. At least she cared enough to save her own skin.”

As he heard Clay sniffle, Justin saw a tear fall down the boy’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Justin,” he breathed.

“Clay, no,” Justin said, leaning towards the glass, “don’t—you have nothing to be sorry for. This was my choice, okay? I knew the risks. I knew what I was getting myself into. And I don’t regret what I did, for speaking up, even if it didn’t make a difference.”

“It did make a difference,” Clay said, wiping away his tears. “And it will—again. I believe it, and I hope you do, too.”

For a moment, they both seemed to stare down at the counter separating them. “Look,” Justin said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you can keep your shit together out there, I will keep up the faith in here—especially since I don’t think breaking down the glass to give you a hug would do me any favors. Although it would totally be worth it.”

Clay burst out laughing. “All right, deal.”

A buzzer rang, and a guard announced that visiting hour was over. As Justin hung the phone back on the wall, Clay put his hand on the window. After taking a deep breath, Justin put his hand on the glass directly in front of Clay’s. They gave each other one last look before Clay withdrew his hand and stepped away from behind the stall.

Don’t lose hope. Maybe, with Clay and his family out there, maybe—that wouldn’t be so impossible after all. And with Jess now willing to fight, he still had a job to do, too.

Justin removed his hand from the glass, then stood up to take his spot in the long line of orange.

~             ~             ~

Justin became convinced that there had to be some not-so-subtle irony in how much juvie was like high school. Aside from the obvious difference in that he couldn’t leave, there were classes during the day and mandatory study hours each night and on the weekends. After he was arraigned on the morning after his arrest, he was assigned a case worker who’d given him his schedule in a room not all that unlike Mr. Porter’s office.

“The point is,” his case worker had said, “there’s not a lot of down time in here. Not a lot of chance to get into trouble. So I suggest you keep your head down, and focus on keeping up with your school work.”

Justin had guessed he was in his early thirties and had seemed to be in the system for a while. Long enough to know his shit, but not long enough to become jaded. He still cared.

“You know what I’m charged with?”

“I know you were sensible enough not to plead guilty.”

“And that’ll be enough for me not to get raped in here?”

His case worker had sat back in his chair and had sighed in disgust. “Jesus Christ, Justin. _No_. That doesn’t happen here. This isn’t a jail, and this isn’t a TV show. You’ve got eyes everywhere, watching. Remember that.”

To Justin’s surprise, he did not have a cell mate, and he wondered if his comment to the case worker had anything to do with it.

Breakfast was delivered on a tray each morning—a sorry conglomerate of some vague protein, un-toasted bread, a juice carton, and saltless eggs—which paled in comparison to the pancakes and French toast Mr. Jensen would prepare in the mornings. After a short while, a voice over the intercom would order everyone to get dressed, and a buzzer would sound before all the cells would unlock. From there, the guards would order everyone to line up, and they escorted the lines of orange to their classrooms.

Everyone had staggered lunch times, followed by a thirty-minute recreation period where the choice was the courtyard, the gym, or their cells. The courtyard was basically an outdoor track with some benches, while the gym was a basketball court minus the bleachers. Justin saw guys run and play basketball, but no one approached him, or tried to talk to him, so he kept to himself.

On the third day, after Clay and Mrs. Jensen’s visit, Justin opted to go back to his cell for his free period. He approached the guard near the cell block entrance, who let him pass without question, and glanced at the guard at the other end of the cell block, who said nothing as Justin walked into his cell.

Despite the overall dreariness of the place, with its graying cinderblock walls and drab concrete floors, most of the kids in his classes seemed to be paying attention to what was going on, and the teachers called them out if someone was zoning out or falling asleep. Aside from the teacher’s name being written on the whiteboard, no one bothered with any introductions or pleasantries—as if the teachers were used to different kids every day, and to not knowing when they would see someone again.

As Justin sat on his bed, he found the relative anonymity of the place to be almost—reassuring. Aside from his case worker, he hadn’t given his name to anybody, and no one had asked for it. He was just the numbers on his orange jumpsuit, and for the time being, he was okay with that. He tried not to think about how long he might be here—or the next time he’d have to show up for court.

He saw the shadows enter his cell, but didn’t hear the footsteps of their approach. Justin turned to see a stocky guy with a goatee and dark complexion stand at the entrance to his cell. He was flanked by two taller, but thinner guys, who might have been right at home on the baseball team back at Liberty High.

“You the guy they say you are?”

A hundred possibilities shot through Justin’s mind as his heart began to race. He got off the bed and stood up. “And what’s that, exactly?” No one seemed to pay him any attention so far. Had Bryce sent them?

The goatee guy stepped into the cell. “They say you’re here ‘cause you raped a girl. Is that right?”

Justin swallowed. “No, it’s not,” he said, holding his ground, “it’s worse. I’m the guy who let his best friend rape his girlfriend, and did nothing to stop it. So whatever you’re here to do, I deserve far worse.”

Goatee guy chuckled. “And who’s this _best_ friend? Would that be—Bryce Walker?”

“Did he send you?”

This time, the guy laughed. “That punk ain’t in here. You taking the fall for him?”

“He ain’t my best friend. Not anymore.”

The guy smirked, and started to back out of the cell. The two guys outside backed away as the guard from the end of the block came into view. “Everything all right in here?” she said sternly.

Goatee guy looked at Justin as he spoke. “Yes, ma’am. We cool.”

After the three guys left, the guard lingered for a moment to look Justin over, but said nothing before stepping away. Once she was gone, Justin lowered himself onto the bed again just as a sob shook him, and he burst into tears.

~             ~             ~

Shower privileges came twice a week for Justin. His first chance to shower in lockup came after his run-in with the goatee guy, and although he’d managed to collect himself by the time he had to head back to class, he was on edge for the rest of the day and unable to get into any headspace to mentally prepare for what a shower in juvie might be like.

It was about as bad as he expected. The showers weren’t optional, and he had to strip naked and hand his clothes to a guard before entering the lockers. When he was done, another guard told him to get a towel and fresh clothes from any of the lockers and that he’d get another jumpsuit before he’d be released back to the cell block.

Unlike at school, there were no stalls in the shower, just lines of shower heads along the walls above a series of drains. And a line of nakedness everywhere.

Justin tried to reassure himself that nothing would happen while he was in there, with the guard posted just outside, but he couldn’t keep himself from frantically squirting the soap gel thing from the bottle above the faucet and haphazardly rinsing out his hair. The guy next to him laughed.

“Chill out, man,” he said. “You get a whole five minutes. Enjoy it!”

Justin didn’t say anything back, but did take a moment to let the lukewarm water stream down his body. Too embarrassed and too stressed out to make eye contact with anyone, he quickly soaped off the rest of his body and rinsed off before shutting off the faucet.

“Your momma wash you like that as a baby?” The same guy from earlier. “You forgot the spot behind your ears!” A few chuckles. Justin ignored them.

He trotted out towards the lockers, feeling his ears burn, and grabbed a towel from the wall. He dried as fast as he could, dumped the towel in the laundry bin, and managed to find a pair of underwear and t-shirt that fit him in one of the lockers. He walked past the first guard without saying a word and met the other guard by the entrance, who provided him another orange jumpsuit and ordered him to put it on. Justin obeyed, and the guard let him back into the cell block.

Justin managed to hold it together during his last mandatory study hour for the day, although he merely pretended to skim his English reading. After lining back up into the sea of orange and being escorted back to his cell, Justin had a few moments to spare after the gates locked but before lights out.

He thought he’d gotten it out of his system, but apparently, he wasn’t done, as he felt powerless to stop the prickling in his throat from blurring his vision. He never thought he’d feel this way again.

He wanted to be on the fucking streets. At least that way, he could score some fucking heroin.

~             ~             ~

The next day, he had his twice-a-week recovery meeting. Justin sat in a circle of twelve or so others, including the counselor, who pointed out Justin and the three other newbies in the group for that session and made them introduce themselves. The counselor kind of reminded Justin of Mr. Jensen, but in a more grandfatherly sort of way. Justin didn’t catch his name the first time he said it, but he was pretty sure it was Eli. Or Riley. After the new-kid introductions, the counselor asked if anyone wanted to start.

A scrawny blond (scrawnier than Justin, even), raised his hand. “I took the _biggest_ dump today.” Justin and everyone else, including the counselor, started to laugh. “It was pretty epic,” the kid went on. “Definitely too much for the pipes to handle.” He shrugged. “Oops.”

“All right, all right,” the counselor said, raising his hands to settle the laughter, “thank you, Mr. Raymond. Considering what they feed you all in here, that is quite the feat.” More laughter. “I’d give you a medal, if I could.”

After looking around the circle, his gaze settled towards Justin. “How about you, Justin? Would you like to say anything?”

Justin sat up slightly. He’d been slouching. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I—I don’t have anything to say.”

Eli waved him off. “Nonsense. If you can laugh, you can always find something to say. What is the addiction you are working to overcome?”

“Heroin,” Justin replied, gazing towards the floor.

“And how long have you been in recovery?”

“Not long enough.” A few chuckles.

The counselor nodded, then turned to one of the other newbies before basically asking the same set of questions. Crack. Painkillers. And meth.

“So, for those of you just starting, and a reminder for the rest of us,” Eli said, “recovery is a journey. Not a destination. Recovery takes work, and it is a constant challenge that your body will continue to subject you to. But above all else, recovery—recovery is a choice. It is one that you should take pride in. It’s not always easy to ask for help. I know—sometimes, it feels impossible to do anything else except to submit to your body’s needs, but as much of a cliché as it is, there is an essential truth in the saying ‘mind over matter.’ Addiction is a powerful force. Willpower can be its equal. If you let it.”

His eyes fell towards Justin once more. “Justin, how did you start your recovery?”

Hesitating, Justin took a deep breath. “I was forced into it.”

“Was it by your parents?”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t… No, they didn’t.”

“Was it a sibling, or a friend?”

Thinking for a moment, Justin eventually said, “A friend.”

“They must be a very good friend, then, to want to get between a man and his heroin.” A few laughed. “Do you want to stay clean?” Eli went on.

“Aren’t I—I’m supposed to say yes to that, right?”

“No,” the counselor said bluntly. “A quarter of the guys in here don’t want to. And that’s their choice. You may not have a choice in being here, but no one can force you to stay clean.” He smiled. “You must have been zoning out when I started with my first rule in here—no bullshit.”

“Well, yes, then,” Justin said. “I want to stay clean. No bullshit.”

“Thank you, Justin. But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

“That would be me, actually,” the huge-dump guy interjected. Justin and a few others laughed.

“No,” Eli said to Justin, “not even Sam over here. The one you need to convince is yourself.”

~             ~             ~

Weekends were mandatory study time. “Independent study,” they called it. Really, it was just alone time in the cell for most of the day, with an hour for lunch and recreation time in the afternoon and the same around dinner time. Justin was mostly fine to stay in his cell. He didn’t feel like venturing out, honestly. In between his copy of _Invisible Man_ and some physics homework, he only really had his thoughts to occupy his time.

His paranoia had largely subsided, but he wasn’t ready to take any chances just yet. Justin tried not to think about his encounter with the goatee guy earlier in the week, not just because nothing had happened, but also because he wasn’t totally sure why he had so completely lost his shit afterwards. It was probably just because he was long overdue for a good cry, and he’d been keeping it all in for so long. Or maybe that was just what happened when the adrenaline starts going, and you think you’re gonna get the shit kicked out of you, only to be given a reprieve at the last possible second.

Or maybe, he wasn’t ready to let Clay down again. He’d asked Justin to do one thing—to look out for himself in here—and already, he was gonna fuck that up, too? What was that gonna do to Clay, to see him bruised and beaten? Jensen was only gonna blame himself, and with Hannah still haunting him, who was gonna stop Clay from going _there_ again?

Justin picked up his book, flipped a few pages, only to toss it aside. He leaned back against the wall as he sat on his bed, and knocked his head on the concrete a few times. No, he had to believe that Clay was okay—the same way Clay had to believe Justin was okay. To do otherwise would be torture, and bring back those cravings even harder, and that’s not what Clay had asked him to do. He’d asked Justin to look out for himself, and damn it, he was gonna try.

No— _do. Or do not. There is no try_. Wasn’t that the inscription on that tiny Yoda figure on Clay’s shelf? Justin hadn’t seen _Star Wars_ , but he could guess the meaning in that quote easily enough.

Justin couldn’t help thinking about his time on the streets. Especially at night. No matter how late his insomnia would keep him up—out there, and in here, too, it seemed—he’d always wake with the sun. Perhaps it had been his survival instincts kicking in, because sleeping during the day wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted to eat. For as strong as his addiction to heroin was, it couldn’t match his hunger. He had to make it to the dumpsters before the garbage was taken, and since he had no reliable way of keeping track of the days, he had to check every day.

By the time he’d run out of money, after the motels and pills had bled him dry, he eventually managed to scout out five different places with somewhat reliable food in the garbage. Food places were too obvious, and even though the vast majority of others he’d met on the streets avoided confrontation, he’d never been fast enough to get to those spots before they were picked clean. Road kill and dead animals weren’t an option, either, since he’d only wretch them up.

In here, at least, the meals were regular and consistent. Justin would take mush on a tray over dumpster diving a hundred times over, but in spite of that, it wasn’t _all_ completely awful. He missed the sun—when it was out, at least, and not pouring rain—he missed the heat, even when all he could feel were chills when he was going through a withdrawal. He’d used heroin not so much for the high but for the gracious numbing it could provide, and with too many hours in a day, he had to spend it somehow when he wasn’t trying to find food or shelter, or else he would’ve gone crazy. He didn’t miss the rationing and the bartering he’d have to struggle with. Was he gonna eat, or was he gonna numb it all away, today?

Justin couldn’t help thinking of another commonality between lockup and the streets. His invisibility. Out there, no matter where he was—on the sidewalk, under a bench, behind a bus stop, in front of a dumpster—no one ever saw him. Not. A. One. In here, people saw him, obviously, but they didn’t _see_ him. He was just like everyone else, and he was fine with that. Out there, he had quickly learned better than to expect anyone to help him. Out there, he was nothing. Just part of the background. Something everybody saw every day, so they’d long become blind to it.

On one particular dive, he’d found a marker. He nearly tossed it aside, but it caught his attention because it looked—new. He popped the cap, dabbed it on his finger, and found the mark to be deep and rich. It was something that had probably been thrown away by mistake. People threw shit out all the time that they didn’t need to, so he put the cap back on and put it in his pocket. A pen like that could’ve been useful, even if he only used it to write his name on his wrist in case someone found his body. (Yeah, most of his thoughts were particularly morbid at the time.)

Really, though, he’d had a damn itch that wouldn’t go away. Like his will to survive, a stubborn thing that wouldn’t let him sleep in the mornings, he still had another illogical thing inside of him—hope. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he happened to be just down the block from a post office, but when he’d climbed out of the dumpster and saw a crumpled dollar bill just lying on the ground, it was one coincidence too many to be anything but fate. At least, that was what Justin told himself then.

He knew he’d have to give up his powers of invisibility when he stepped inside the post office, but luckily, it was mostly deserted. He eyed the display of post cards on the wall and quickly picked one that didn’t seem totally lame.

No one was at the counter when he walked up. Maybe he hadn’t completely turned off his invisibility. He cleared his throat, which was harder than he expected. “Ex—excuse me?” He didn’t recognize his voice. Maybe he’d forgotten what it sounded like. He’d barely spoken in weeks.

A lady finally appeared. She gave him one look and Justin knew she was already done with him. He really, really hoped she wouldn’t call the cops on him.

“I—may I buy this, please?” he uttered quickly, pressing the post card on the counter.

The lady didn’t say anything, only pressed a few buttons on the register. When Justin saw the total pop up on the pin pad before him, her voice echoed his disappointment. “One seventy-eight.”

Justin slowly pulled the crumpled dollar from his pocket. “I, I only have this.” He tried to smooth it out in his hands before placing it on the counter.

The lady held up her hands. “Boy, keep it.” She slid both the dollar and the post card back toward Justin before opening a drawer under the counter. She pulled out a stamp and stuck it on the post card. “Do you need a pen?”

“No, no thank you,” Justin said, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

The lady beckoned towards the other end of the counter. “Drop it through the slot there when you’re done.”

Maybe it was because it had been the holidays. Maybe the lady thought Justin would cause a scene (he wouldn’t have). Despite his heart pounding inside of his chest, Justin had managed a steady hand to pen his message on the back of the post card.

_Nancy,_

_I’ll always love you,_

_-Sid_

Frankly, he thought of Jessica more than he cared to admit. And it hurt. Maybe that was the other reason he’d trade the food for the heroin more often than not. To forget. He knew Jessica would have gotten the message, and maybe—just maybe—she would remember that they’d been happy, but perhaps they should have thought through their costumes more carefully. Maybe they were just willing the bad karma on themselves. Looking back on it now, Justin couldn’t help thinking, _Look at the original Sid and Nancy…_

He didn’t think he’d ever find people to hang with again. When he had started taking refuge in shelters, Justin had guessed it would’ve been a possibility. It was just an inevitable side effect of meeting people just like him, people who knew things. He wouldn’t have gotten through the winter without help. He didn’t seek people out, so maybe trouble just had a way of finding him. After months of being alone, he couldn’t help but jump at the people who’d taken an interest in him. He probably should have known that they’d only lead him to trouble, and maybe even that they’d only wanted his jacket.

Maybe it was really his survival instincts working—despite his wishes—to save him. Maybe they had been sprinkling bread crumbs throughout the city, to create a trail for someone—for her—to find him. Never had he expected Clay fucking Jensen to out of nowhere be shouting his name from Tony’s red Mustang, or to chase after him down the alleyway. His survival instincts had made him eat, but only just enough. Not enough to outrun somebody who undoubtedly got three full meals a day.

Justin looked down at his physics homework. Inertia. Objects in motion tended to stay in motion. Objects at rest, tended to stay at rest. Change was the hardest part. Change took effort. A force. Justin might have been at rest, cooped up in this place, but he was moving, really. Not like when he was on the streets. It was ironic. Maybe it didn’t really make sense, but like another illogical thing, it gave him hope. Justin could do this. He really could. Jessica and Clay were counting on him, and they both had already saved him once before. Yeah, he could do this.

All he really had to do was coast.


	2. Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin realizes he has to face some new realities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah hah! Yet again, I can't seem to count. There will actually be five chapters. Or should.

Mrs. Jensen looked better rested during her and Clay’s second visit. She had regained that poise Justin had imagined her to have inside the courtroom, although her news wasn’t much different from the week before. As she worked to secure his release, endless roadblocks seemed to lie ahead.

“I haven’t yet been able to convince the DA to drop or reduce the charges against you, given the amount of attention the case against Bryce has gotten. A plea bargain might be an option, but since you’ve already testified against Bryce before, the county won’t necessarily need your cooperation against him.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t want to plead guilty to this.”

“I know,” Mrs. Jensen said, her voice coming in through the earpiece, “but this might be your only option to avoid a prolonged stay in here. I’m afraid—your trial very likely won’t happen as quickly as Bryce’s. Unless—you have new ideas on where your mother might be.” When Justin said nothing and looked away, she went on, “I’m doing all I can, Justin. Hang in there, all right?”

He looked back at her. “I know. I don’t doubt that for a second. Thank you.”

She looked at Clay behind her and handed the phone to him as she stood up and he took her place. She squeezed his shoulders and they said something to each other before she stepped out of view.

Jensen brought the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Justin couldn’t help the slight twitches of a smile shaping his lips.

“You’re looking better.”

Justin ran a hand over his scalp. “It’s ‘cause they made me get a haircut. On the plus side, they finally let me clip my nails.”

Clay nodded. “Small victories, huh? It’s not just the haircut, though. You seem—better.”

Rolling his eyes, Justin said, “It’s only because _you’re_ here, Jensen.” He grinned. Clay grinned back at him. “Seriously, though,” Justin went on, “it’s really not that bad in here. I mean, it’s not great—but, it’s not awful, either. It’s sort of like boot camp in here. Pretty much my entire day is accounted for, morning to night. And there are guards everywhere, mostly up everyone’s asses. So you don’t need to keep worrying about me.”

Clay nodded again, pursing his lips for a moment. “Well, I do worry, but thank you. Now, I know, I can worry a little less.”

They laughed. After a moment, Justin asked, “Have I been missing anything?”

“Honestly? No. School is—school, pretty much. In case you were wondering, though, Bryce has been suspended, at least, for the time being.”

Justin scoffed. “Yeah, that’s something, I guess. He doesn’t have to be in lock up, and he doesn’t have to go to school, either. Great.”

“Well, he’s in hiding. Or laying low. No one’s heard from him.”

He gazed at Clay, biting his lip. He really wanted to ask, but looked away and thought better of it.

“What is it?” Clay asked.

“Nothing,” Justin said, shaking his head.

“Justin.”

He kept his eyes down. “Have you—have you talked to Jessica?”

“Yes, I have.”

He glanced back up at Clay, who seemed perfectly calm. “Is it,” Justin said, “is it okay if, if I ask about her?”

“Yes, of course. I’m—I’m honestly surprised you didn’t ask about her at all during our first visit.”

“I didn’t,” Justin stammered, “I didn’t want to do something to—I mean…”

When Justin trailed off, Clay went ahead and spoke. “I’ve checked in with her, to see how she’s been doing.”

“How is she?”

“At first, I think she was in a little bit of shock. But now, I think she’s slowly letting herself believe that this is all real. That something finally happened this time. She asked me about why you were arrested, and I basically told her what you—failed to—tell me.”

“Sorry,” Justin uttered.

Clay gave a flat smile. “It’s okay, really. Anyway, I think she understood, though, why you did it.” They looked at each other for a moment, before Justin gazed down at the counter again. “Do you—want me to ask her to see you?”

Justin wasn’t so sure when he became so readable like an open book. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

“I will do it, Justin,” Clay went on. “I will gladly give up my spot for her.”

Justin swallowed as a bitter taste prickled his throat. He wasn’t sure why hearing Clay say that made him feel suddenly so—sad.

“During the—during your visiting, visiting hour—I mean,” Clay sputtered.

“Has she asked about me?”

Clay gave a slight shrug. “I mean, I’ve told her where you are, that I’ve been to see you. She asked if you were okay, and I said you were. I—I haven’t mentioned anything else.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Justin said, sighing. “And that’s fine. Honestly, I’d rather see someone who actually _wants_ to see me during my only weekly-allotted twenty minutes of contact with the outside world.” He smiled.

Clay smiled back. “Okay, who?” he said, feigning a confused look. “I’ll make sure to coordinate a schedule with them.”

Justin burst out laughing. “Screw you, Clay.” Jensen laughed with him.

After the moment passed, Clay said, “I’ll talk to Jess.”

“Don’t,” Justin insisted, shaking his head. “She—she needs to focus on her own shit. Not—not on me.”

The buzzer rang, and Justin heard the click of the phone line going dead. He wanted to kick himself, hating that he had to leave things like this with Clay, so he pressed his hand to the glass and kept his eyes fixed on Clay, hoping he would do the same. After swallowing, Clay brought his hand to the glass directly in front of Justin’s, just like they’d done at the first visit. He nodded to Justin before hanging up the phone, and Justin watched him stand up as their eyes met one last time before Clay disappeared from the stall.

After setting the phone back on the hook, Justin let out a long, deep sigh. He and Clay needed to have a talk—a real talk—but when was that ever going to happen? With all this shit in the way, Justin wasn’t even sure if they should tempt fate. What they had going on between them—whatever it was—still seemed too fragile to exist, let alone articulate. It was like they were walking a tight rope, or trying to catch a skittish deer, or trying to contain a giant soap bubble. One wrong move, and it’d all come crashing down, or vanish into nothingness.

Just how did he really feel about Clay Jensen?

~             ~             ~

Lunch hour in the cafeteria was a lot like Liberty High, except it was drabber and there were less windows. And of course the sea of orange jumpsuits. Groups were less cohesive despite the lack of space, so Justin was rarely able to get a table or bench to himself. Not that anybody really tried talking to him. The room was large and echoey enough to buoy the rumblings of random conversations together without the deafening silence that pervaded the rest of the place—especially the cell blocks, where the air just seemed to swallow every sound as soon as it was made.

The food was marginally better at lunch, and overall quality seemed to peak at dinner, which was probably a subliminal accident to motivate everyone to make it through the day. Justin wasn’t sure if there was a schedule or menu posted anywhere, so he never could really guess what his next meal would be (unlike breakfast, which was the same thing every morning). That was exciting, right? Small victories in an otherwise static schedule.

Today was meatloaf, and Justin was genuinely surprised that it was warm and had actual flavor. In other words, it didn’t suck. The side veggies were mushy and tasteless, though, and the bread was stale, so it only seemed to reinforce the split personality of the place. They obviously had most all of their shit locked down tight, which was reassuring, but stuff like the decent meatloaf seemed to reflect the pockets of above-average quality sprinkled around the place. Somebody—probably multiple somebodies—cared. Like legit cared. People like Eli (Riley?), his recovery group leader, and most all of the guards. Justin had been here for almost two weeks now, but he still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the place.

“I see you got the meatloaf. Excellent choice, _hermano_. Miss Keating could make dirt edible.”

Justin looked up and was startled to see goatee guy set his tray down and settle into the seat across from him.

“Relax, Justin, I ain’t here to make you shit your breakfast.

“How do you know my name?”

The guy chuckled. “I know things.” He brought his fist towards Justin. “Name’s Ren.” When Justin merely looked at him, Ren went on, “Well? Don’t leave me hangin’!”

Justin reluctantly bumped his fist. Ren was alone, so Justin guessed he wasn’t there to start anything, but that didn’t stop his heart rate from picking up. “What do you want?” Justin said.

“You impressed me, you know? Remember, when you thought I was there to fuck you up last week?”

“I remember,” Justin grunted. “Weren’t you?”

Ren laughed. “Something like that. I would have tried to find you sooner, but you know how things go around here. Most shit here is locked down tighter than a virgin twink’s asshole, so if you’ve been looking over your shoulder since then, my sincerest apologies.”

Justin shook his head. “Okay.”

Ren laughed another airy laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d still be here. Those two guys I brought with me? Already sprung. Flew the cuckoo’s nest. People don’t stick around here too long. So that makes me think, if you’re still here, you either did something _real_ serious, or you’re too poor for your folks to spring you, but since you’re white, you probably been hooked on something, too.”

After taking a bite of his meatloaf, Justin said, “Are you asking me a question? Mr. ‘I know things’?”

Leaning forward, Ren grinned. “See, I knew I liked you for a reason. You’re a feisty one.”

“I’m not gay.”

Ren burst out laughing at that. A few guys looked towards them, but said nothing. “Oh, man,” Ren said, after composing himself, “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long, long time. And I’ve been in here over a year, now.”

“So, you’ve been here the longest? Are you trying to intimidate me, or something?”

A sad look smoothed out Ren’s dark features. “You think anybody can really start anything in here, when kids come and go at the drop of the hat? Nah, _esé,_ yours truly has had the distinct honor of aging up in _le juvie_ , and in a few months, unless some miracle happens, I’ll be promoted to the big-boys version. And then I’ll get to see who’s ‘not gay’ then.”

His mouth empty, Justin swallowed. “What did you do?”

“Tried to kill my sister’s boyfriend. Well, perhaps _kill_ is a strong word. More like, tried to engineer the life out of the cocksucker because he was abusing my sister, but _nooo you pendejo I’m a grown ass woman you’re not my papi I take care of myself aaaahh.”_ He had twisted his face and strained his voice in an obvious mocking of his sister.

“Family,” Justin said.

“I know, right?” Ren sat back in his chair. “See, I’ve managed to convince some of the people here to take pity on me, so I get favors every now and then. I hear things, and I heard about the trial, the big case in the news they kept talking about against the high school.”

“So I take it you heard the verdict?”

Ren nodded. “I found one of the trial blogs, yes. And that’s how I learned about you, _Señor_ Foley. You have been through quite the shit, haven’t you?”

“It’s not all true, you know. What they wrote on those.”

Ren gave him a feigned look of shock. “Gee, ya don’t say? You think I would’ve let you off the hook if I really believed you cooked up some rape allegation to get revenge on your best mate for cheating with your girlfriend?”

Justin took the last bite of his meatloaf. “So, what—then? You wanna be my friend or something? In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a very good friend.”

“And I’m not a very good brother.” Ren took his plastic fork and dumped his portion of meatloaf onto Justin’s tray. When Justin looked at him, he said, “You’re too skinny, _hermano_. Eat.” Ren used the fork to take a bite of the meatloaf.

“Thank—thanks.”

“How long are you gonna be in here?”

Justin sighed. “I, I don’t know.”

“So you haven’t plead guilty? Took a plea deal, nothing?”

“I’m not valuable enough for a plea deal. And I can’t… I don’t want people to think I just _let_ it happen. I mean—I guess I did, but, I wasn’t _in_ on it.”

Ren shrugged. “I hear ya, man. I thought the same thing. I wasn’t trying to kill the scumbag. Just scare him off. They bumped my trial for months, I had a shitty lawyer, and I wound up being sentenced for attempted manslaughter. Not as hard as attempted murder, but still hard enough for real time. And it was my third strike, so it was my own damn fault for being stupid, I guess.”

“So, you’re trying to tell me, I should just plead guilty?”

Waving his hands, Ren said, “I think if you believe your lawyer is worth their shit, do what they say. But I think, if they _were_ actually any good, you wouldn’t be in here still.”

“It’s not her fault. I—they’ll only release me to a guardian, and my mom’s a junkie who ran, so…”

“Yeah,” Ren said, sighing, “my folks weren’t around, either. But, I’m sure your lawyer’s told you this already, right? That this state is liberal as hell, and it ain’t about punishing kids. Well, at least not unless you push too hard. Sometimes, it’s better to get on your knees and beg the big man for leniency.”

Justin took a sip of milk from his carton. “Why do you want me out, anyway? If you’re trying to be my friend.”

Ren pointed at him. “See, I’m not trying to be your friend—I’m trying to get you to owe me a favor. So when you do get sprung, you’ll kill that son of a bitch for me.”

When Ren grinned, they both burst out laughing. Justin finished the rest of the extra meatloaf, and when the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the period, Ren and Justin walked to dump their trays and joined the line of orange out of the cafeteria. He patted Justin on the back and told him that he’d see him around.

Just like the decent meatloaf, Ren was a surprise, and Justin didn’t know what to make of him. If Ren really had been around long enough to gather favors with the staff, he could come in handy. But, Justin was reluctant to think about things like that, because if he did—it meant he’d have to actually confront the possibility that he was in here for the long haul. And of all the things he struggled to not think about in here, that was near the top of the list.

Maybe this place was more like the streets than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t do everything alone. Maybe, it was time to start making connections. Like planting seeds, or leaving breadcrumbs. Maybe the people in here could do more than he thought to get him out.

~             ~             ~

The next day, instead of going back to his cell during recreation hour, Justin decided to venture out into the indoor courts. He ran into the kid from his recovery group along the way, the skinny blonde who’d made the report on his poop at the beginning of the session, and he seemed to recognize Justin right away. The guy was a lot taller, Justin realized, than he looked sitting down.

“Hey, you’re H, aren’t you?”

“H?”

“Heroin.”

Justin forced a laugh as they stepped into the makeshift gymnasium. “I’d prefer Justin, actually.”

“Yes, honey, we’d all prefer a lot of things, wouldn’t we?” the blonde said, giving a flat smile.

“What’s your name?” Justin asked, pressing on.

The blonde gasped. “You mean you don’t remember it from when we all introduced ourselves in a rapid-fire succession around the group circle?”

“No?”

He smirked at Justin. “I’m Vodka.”

“Okay, but if we’re going for addictions, that sounds more like a stripper name.”

Vodka gasped again, placing his hand over his chest. “Girl, how did you know? You’re smarter than you look, H. But seriously, if the one thing people in here know me for is my alcohol addiction, I’ll take it.”

Justin wasn’t really heading in any particular direction, so he had followed Vodka towards the rack of basketballs. “I’m not sure if I’d want to be known by my—addiction.”

“Yeah, but it’s better than ‘rapist,’ isn’t it?”

Justin sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

Vodka dribbled the basketball. “Do you play?”

“Sometimes,” Justin said, shrugging, “but it’s been a minute.”

“Other kids in here are usually too scared to play me. Especially the black kids. I guess it’s too much of a hit to street cred to get dunked on by a white kid? And it’s _way_ too hard for most of the dimwits in here to manage teams for some reason.

“How about this? I’ll make you a deal, H. Play me, and win, and you’ll earn the right for me to call you by the name of your choosing.”

Justin looked up at him as Vodka startled dribbling the ball again. “I don’t think the ball’s really in my court.”

Vodka laughed. “I like your sloppy use of metaphor—brownie points—but honestly, you’re not even gonna _try?”_

Justin snatched the basketball mid bounce and trotted towards the nearby open hoop. He prepped his shot where he estimated the free-throw line would be (there were no markings on the scuffed up wooden floors), made his shot—and landed the dunk. Someone nearby whooped, clearly impressed.

When Justin looked back at Vodka after retrieving the basketball, the blonde was grinning at him. “Bitch. If you think that counts, you got another thing coming.”

Justin spread his arms in a wide shrug, the basketball in his palm. “All right, if you really think you need the handicap…”

They decided on losers’ outs to keep things interesting and settled on a greenish stain on the floor as a suitable substitute for the three-point line. A small crowd began gathering to watch them play, including a guard. Justin managed to get a few more shots in, but physically, he was in no shape to challenge Vodka—even before the height difference. People still cheered them on, though, even after Vodka’s fourth or fifth dunk on Justin when it became clear they didn’t need to keep score anymore.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Justin hunched over to catch his breath, watching as Vodka made one last successful free throw. Vodka walked back towards him, an I-told-you-so look on his face, as Justin struggled against the overwhelming urge to just keel over.

Vodka held out a hand. “Now _that_ was a respectable effort, H. Truly.”

Justin took his hand and they shook. “Thanks,” he breathed.

“Stay off the H for real though, Justin, and I might finally have myself a worthy small forward.”

They grinned at each other, and Vodka patted Justin on the back as they exited the gym.

~             ~             ~

The next morning, Justin was surprised when a guard summoned him from class—he had a visitor. As the first real interruption of his regular schedule, he tried to contain himself as he was cuffed and escorted through a different part of the cell block towards what he guessed were the administration offices near where he had his first meeting with the case worker. Ultimately, he was led to a private-looking room, and when the guard opened it to reveal Mrs. Jensen, he’d never thought he’d be _this_ happy to see her.

“Mrs. Jensen!” he called out. The guard remained outside and shut the door behind Justin.

As they sat opposite each other at the table in the center of the room, Mrs. Jensen said, “Try not to get _too_ excited, Justin. I haven’t been able to secure your release, yet, but I do have some possible good news.”

Justin felt his smile only fade slightly. “What news?”

“I spoke to the prosecuting attorney in Bryce’s case and he is finally willing to consider a plea deal for you rather than simply issuing you a subpoena. That, of course, rests on your willingness to enter a guilty plea.”

Justin looked away for a moment and licked around his teeth in an attempt to get the sour taste out of his mouth. “Would I be able to get out sooner?”

“Not immediately, but it could dramatically shorten the time you could be remanded in custody. Barring the chance that we do find your mother, however.”

“Do you think I should?”

“I think it would be best to avoid a trial, yes. If you agree to a plea deal, the chances are also very good that I’ll be able to negotiate the charges down to a misdemeanor.”

“So I’d have to testify again, right?”

Mrs. Jensen nodded. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be any easier than the first time, but this would at least show that you’re cooperative. Combined with your continued good behavior in custody, this could all ultimately contribute to your release into emergency custody.”

“Emergency custody?”

She gave him a gentle smile. “It’s a long shot, so I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’m petitioning for your release back into our care. Again, there are still quite a few hurdles in our way, so one step at a time, okay?”

Justin swallowed. “I—I really appreciate this, Mrs. Jensen. This—it’s not enough, but—thank you. I don’t deserve this, all you’re doing for me. Thank you.”

“Clay would disagree with you on that one.” Her eyes glanced briefly towards the window. Justin realized there was a camera in the room. “He told me how you helped him. Well, ‘saved’ is the word he used. So, as far as I’m concerned, you _deserve_ our help, Justin.”

A brief sting of panic shot through Justin—just how much did Clay tell her?—but he took a deep breath and tried to contain it within the swell of other emotions blooming inside his chest. “Is there anything else I should try to be doing in here?”

“I would keep doing what you’re doing in here. Keep up the good behavior. It’s working in your favor.”

“Has Bryce’s trial started yet? When would I need to testify?”

“Jury selection wraps up tomorrow, last I heard. Trial is slated to start next week. Bryce’s lawyer has been trying to negotiate a plea deal of his own, but there have been some complicating factors, including Jessica’s wishes to go to trial.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She is set on it. Assuming the trial does move forward, I’ll be able to visit you more regularly, then.”

“What about Clay?”

Mrs. Jensen seemed to be suppressing a smile. “My visits as your attorney don’t count as visitation, per se, but unfortunately, Clay would still need to stick to your scheduled visitation periods.”

“My _one_ visitation period,” Justin moaned.

“Is there anything you wanted me to tell him?”

Justin gazed at her for a moment, hoping to discern what she might or might not be thinking, but that lawyer poker face was back in full force. He shook his head. “No. Just as long as he comes to see me.”

At that, Mrs. Jensen smiled. “We’ll be there.”

They stood, and after Mrs. Jensen knocked on the door, the door opened and they said goodbye to each other. As the guard escorted him back to class, Justin tried to organize all the stuff he had to think through later. It was a jumbled mess, but the thing that seemed to come out on top of the fray was Mrs. Jensen’s demeanor during the visit. Did Clay tell her? Or did she know? Actually, what _was_ there to know, really? Justin still wasn’t even sure.

And Jessica—he’d have to talk about that night all over again. Right in front of her. Would she be there? Would she _have_ to be there? Or could she or would she choose not to come to court that day?

As the guard undid Justin’s restraints just outside of his first period, he settled back into the classroom, dodging the eyes looking his way. He turned his attention back to the reading on the desk in front of him and tried to focus on the teacher’s lecture, reminding himself of Mrs. Jensen’s advice. One step at a time. Just one step at a time.


	3. Not Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Clay try to distract themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up for this chapter, I suppose!

Justin sat outside the exam room, a guard hovering before him. This would be his second time seeing the doctor, the first time being shortly after his lockup. A follow up before his group recovery meeting. When the door opened, a lanky figure exited the room.

“How’s it goin’, H?” Vodka.

“What’s up, V?” Justin greeted.

Vodka smirked at him as he walked past Justin. “Clever. Now all we need is a vowel between us.”

Justin stood and entered the office, shutting the door behind him. It was a different doctor than the first time. Obviously, they had more than one doctor.

“Have a seat,” the petite brunette said, indicating the only other chair in the room. She sat at a small desk with stacks of files before her. Justin did as she instructed, sitting beside a counter lining the wall and a cabinet just overhead. Sterile and bare, just as an exam room should be, right?

The doctor appeared to be reviewing one of those file folders in front of her. The name badge draping off of her lab coat read Meera Patel just below her image. Justin suddenly felt uncomfortable with his hands, unsure of what to do with them. The chair was awfully big.

“How are you feeling, Justin?” the doctor asked, not looking up from the file.

“Fine,” he said simply.

“How are the cravings?”

Justin shrugged. “They come and go.”

“Any specific triggers?”

“Stress?” Justin said, suppressing a grin as he shook his head.

The doctor looked up at him. “Sorry,” she said, smiling back at him. “I don’t usually have a lot of time with my visits. This whole place is a trigger, am I right?”

“It’s not that bad, honestly.”

“From what Dr. Elliott tells me, you’re doing better than many of the others I see. I can say that also because this is the first time we’ve met.”

So his recovery group leader was a doctor, too. He really needed to pay more attention to the people who worked here. “I never really—did anything formal, like, with my recovery. Like, see anybody for it, I mean.”

“Yes, I see that in your case notes, here. It also says here that you had friends help you detoxify before your arrest.”

It was what he had told the first doctor. So they really were paying attention. “Yes. Is that bad?”

“No, not necessarily. In fact, it’s quite good—much better than nothing. Recovery is not a place—it is structure, structure that I worry about you getting should you be released from here.”

“Are there things I should be taking to help?”

“Are you having any withdrawal symptoms, other than cravings? Fatigue, pain, insomnia, nausea?”

Justin shook his head. “No.”

“Then that wouldn’t really be necessary. Getting back to your triggers, I understand you may be testifying in court soon. This is something you have done before, is that right?”

“I got clean to testify, yes.”

Dr. Patel turned a page in Justin’s file and read for a moment, then wrote some notes of her own. “How do you feel about having to testify again?”

Justin shuffled slightly in the chair. “Not great.”

More notes. Dr. Patel sighed. “If this were an actual treatment facility, we might be able to discuss medication for your anxiety, but here, we will have to focus on what we can do.”

“So I just pretty much have to suck it up, right?”

She smiled at Justin. “I usually try to leave that to Dr. Elliott. He is able to say that in a much more tactful way than I ever could.” She stood up and stepped towards him. “Look across,” she said, and then shined a light in his right, then left eye.

“Am I gonna make it, doctor?”

Dr. Patel laughed. “You appear to be doing quite well, Justin, all things considered. I know you may not necessarily want to hear this, but I think this place—despite all the draconian measures—is doing good for you. Many youths like yourself lack the structure they truly need to stay out of trouble.”

“I—I have a place, though. I have people that really do want to help me. That—are trying to help me.”

“I thought your mother could not be located.”

“No, not my mom. My boy—my, my friend, and his mom. His parents. I had been staying with them.”

“I see.” Dr. Patel went back to desk and seemed to make another note in his file. “Thank you, Justin,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re free to exit.”

Justin stood and quickly left the room, feeling his face burn. He passed another kid in the very seat he had been waiting in earlier before meeting the guard that would escort him to his recovery meeting. As they walked, Justin couldn’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would the recovery docs be the ones to keep him here, or help set him free?

And, on a semi-related front, did he just out himself?

~             ~             ~

“Okay, how about this one? Why was Yoda afraid of seven?”

Justin rolled his eyes, grinning. “Why?”

“Because six—seven _ate.”_

Justin shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Clay made a face. “So you haven’t seen _Star Wars,_ either?”

“I’ve seen the new one.”

His jaw dropping, Clay seemed genuinely affronted by that. “And that’s it?” When Justin shrugged, Clay said, “All right, we’ll have to add that to the list, too.”

Mrs. Jensen had visited Justin earlier in the week, informing him that the lawyer prosecuting Bryce’s trial had accepted their plea deal. The trial was set to begin, so she had asked Justin to talk about anything but the trial during Clay’s visit. Clay had obviously gotten the memo, too, as he started their visit with a list of movies Justin has or hasn’t seen intermingled with a series of bad dad jokes.

“You know, your dad has told me most of these already.”

He heard Clay sigh through the phone. “Yeah, I figured. But it’s hard not to bring up—you know what.”

There were a lot of _you-know-whats_ that they could or couldn’t be talking about. “Did you—tell your mom about that night, that night at Bryce’s?”

Clay gave him a sober look. “Yeah, I did. I—I just told her that I was angry, and that I’d gone over to Bryce’s house. I told her I’d called you and you saved me from doing something really stupid, and that’s why we needed to help you—not that she really needed convincing.”

“And, is that it?”

“I haven’t told her—about us, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, not that. I mean—you haven’t told her—did you tell her about, about what you tried to do?”

Nodding, Clay said, “Right, yeah. No, I didn’t tell her about the gun or— _that_ , either, naturally.”

“Clay, you really scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry, I know, but I’ve been fine, Justin, for real. I haven’t been anywhere _close_ to where I was that night since then, believe me. So, no need to worry about me.”

Justin couldn’t help smiling at how easily they could slip into each other’s shoes, literally and figuratively. “Even with another trial starting again?”

“Nah uh!” Clay interrupted, holding up a finger. “I promised my mom no trial talk, so if we break that promise, I’m obligated to ask about your mom.”

“What about my mom?”

“If you’ve had any new ideas on where she might be.”

Justin sighed and slouched against the counter. “No, I haven’t. Come on, do you _really_ think I want to be in here?”

Clay shook his head. “No, I don’t. But she’s still your best shot at getting out of here.”

“I know, I get that. And believe me, if I knew, I would tell you. Look, I get why it’s so hard. I’m nothing to you guys, so I’m not angry that I’m still in here. Not at all.”

Clay was quiet for a moment. “Justin,” he finally said, barely above a whisper, “you—are _not_ nothing, okay?” He raised his voice as Justin met his eyes. “Listen to me—you are _not_ nothing.”

Swallowing, Justin gazed at Clay for a moment before glancing back down at the counter. “I, I know. I meant, _legally_ , I’m nothing to your family.”

“You—you’re something to me, okay? I might not know what that is, exactly, right now, but you mean something to me. So, use that against Mr. Nothing whenever it rears its ugly head.”

A deep swell of warmth bloomed inside of Justin’s chest. He took a deep breath, and smiled. “You mean something to me, too, Jensen.”

Clay smiled back at him. He glanced around him before cupping a hand around his mouthpiece. “Have you, you know, been able to…at all?”

As he saw Clay’s cheeks redden, Justin felt the heat rise on his own face. He cupped a hand around his own mouthpiece. “I haven’t been able to get off since I’ve been in here.”

Clay’s eyes widened. “No privacy, or…?”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t have a cell mate, but I just—haven’t had the chance.”

After clearing his throat, Clay said, “I, I think about you every night, you know. Being next to me.”

Justin swallowed, feeling the heat rise in another—lower—part of his body. He grinned and said, “How about tonight, since I know you’ll be thinking about me—let’s both think about the things we’ll want to do to each other when I get out? All the things you want, so the trial can’t drag us down. At least for a little while.”

Clay grinned back at him, his face flushed. “I will definitely do that. I will do that, like it’s the very first time. Like I haven’t already been doing that for the past three weeks.”

“No fair,” Justin said, but the buzzer cut him off. With the line dead, he pressed his hand to the glass just as Clay did the same.

Before Justin stood up, he had to adjust himself before getting back into single file. If Clay had been thinking about him like that all this time, why had Justin been depriving himself?

He had to put the thought out of his mind to keep his erection from getting any more obvious as he and the other inmates were escorted back to the cell block. Justin couldn’t help smiling to himself, though, because it was going to be a long, good night.

There was a lot he wanted to do with Clay fucking Jensen.

~             ~             ~

The lights in the cell block dimmed a few times, signaling an imminent lights out. Justin settled onto his bed, lying on his back, and stared up at the ceiling with a grin on his face. After the lights went out, he couldn’t help chuckling quietly to himself. It was just like that second night they slept together, where for a while, he and Clay just couldn’t stop laughing together like little school girls. They liked each other. And it was fucking hilarious. Who would have thought? Justin Foley and Clay Jensen. Gay for each other.

Justin felt himself sobering up as another thought filled his mind, the thought of Clay lying awake at night, thinking of Justin and—pleasuring himself. Justin burst out with a brief laugh—it was still hard to believe—but the idea of Clay doing the dirty, touching himself, right this instant, made Justin harden and flush with desire.

How would Clay be doing it, right now? Would he be in his t-shirt and boxer-briefs, one hand under his shirt as the other stroked his hard on? Justin turned on his side, wishing he was right there next to Clay. Justin would be making out with him, kissing him slowly but deeply, and running his hand across Clay’s chest. He’d chase Clay’s tongue with his own as he rubbed his hips against Clay’s thigh, proving to the boy just how turned-on he was.

Yeah, hand jobs were nice, and so was grinding against each other, but there was much more that they could be doing. So much more that Justin wanted to try. Justin would sit up, and straddle Clay, and gently coax the shirt off of him to reveal that beautiful torso of his. He’d lean down and kiss his neck, just behind his ear, and whisper just what he wanted to do to Clay. He’d savor the moan he’d bet the boy would make, and after kissing his way down Clay’s neck, Justin would slowly work his lips downward and wrap them around Clay’s nipple, pressing his tongue into it, as he pinched the other between his fingers.

Clay would keep making those erotic noises of pleasure, and when Justin would shush him, they’d joke about the impossibility of that at the moment. Justin would keep making his way down Clay’s stomach, slowly kissing his way across the boy’s bellybutton, before surprising Clay by pressing his face into the boy’s crotch. Justin would inhale deeply, feeling the fabric of Clay’s underwear against his cheeks and the firmness of Clay’s erection throbbing against his nose and lips. And Justin would feel a cool spot of wetness against his cheek, an indisputable sign of Clay’s arousal.

Justin would continue rubbing his nose against Clay’s erection through the underwear, inhaling his pure, raw scent.

“You ready?” he’d ask Clay.

“Yes,” the boy would respond.

Justin would slowly insert his fingertips into the waistband of Clay’s underwear, lifting it up, as it would barely be able to contain the boy’s erection anyway. He would slide it down gently, slowly revealing more of the shaft, inch by inch, down to his ball sack, before whipping the underwear down Clay’s legs entirely and dropping them off the side of the bed.

Justin would take a moment and sit up to revel in the sight of Clay in his naked, beautiful form. He’d smile at Clay, the desire swelling inside of him because—damn, he’d want to do so much more at that moment—this was a great place to start. He’d tell Clay he was beautiful. Maybe, Jensen would doubt his words, so Justin would just say, “Let me prove it to you.”

He’d never taken a dick in his mouth before, but Justin wouldn’t be afraid. He would be so turned on by Clay, and Justin had enough experience to know exactly what would feel good, and what would drive Clay out of his mind. Justin would start slow at first, licking Clay’s sack up across his shaft, up all the way to the tip. He’d taste that bittersweet excitement before doing it again a second, and third time. He’d then take the boy’s erection in his grip and give him several firm strokes as he took one of Clay’s jewels in between his lips and would gently press down on it with his tongue, sucking on it, before doing the same to its twin.

Clay was the perfect size, not monstrous like a porn star but still with a satisfying girth that would no doubt fill Justin’s mouth. He’d swirl his tongue around Clay’s shaft before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking deeply as he took more of Clay inside his mouth. He’d experiment with how deeply he could take Clay, working away at any gag reflex, while making sure the boy’s cock was as slick and as wet as possible as he bobbed his head into Clay’s crotch.

Justin knew what Clay’s dick felt like in his hand, so he could only imagine what it’d feel like inside of his mouth. He might be able to take all of him with some effort and practice, but he knew this for sure—he was gonna make Clay come inside his mouth. He’d work Clay for a while with just his mouth, tongue, and lips, before he’d start to stroke him with his hand. Justin wondered how long Clay would last. Probably not too long, if Justin went all out, so he’d probably slow it down—he thought he would quickly learn how to tell when Clay was close—and gradually pick it back up until they were nearing the edge once more.

Truth be told, Justin couldn’t really say that he had ever had an _amazing_ blow job, so he’d make sure Clay would get one. When Clay was finally too close to pull back from the edge, only then would Justin pay his own erection any attention. He would keep bobbing full force until Clay’s come started to fill his mouth—and he would swallow all of it, sucking it all down his throat as Clay came—as Justin jacked himself off, wanting to come at nearly the same time, if not simultaneously, with him.

Justin pulled down his underwear, slid off his shirt, and began stroking himself. He’d already leaked enough to fully lube himself up. As Justin imagined crawling up over Clay, seeing the dopey grin on the boy’s face, and asking him if it was okay to kiss him—only to have Clay lean up towards him and ram his tongue into his mouth—it barely took Justin any effort to bring himself to that point of no return. He cried out as the force of the orgasm shot the come through his dick and splattered across his stomach, and he arced his head back as the shockwave of pleasure rippled through his entire body.

_Fuck, was that overdue_ , Justin thought with a sigh, letting the aftershock of the orgasm tingle his muscles. He gazed down at the pool of come across his body, and damn, it was probably the most he’d ever shot at once.

“You havin’ a real good dream there, man?”

Justin shot a look towards the gate of his cell, but there was no one there. It must have been one of the guys in the cells next to him.

Despite the initial panic, Justin couldn’t help grinning. “The best,” he said aloud. There was no response.

Justin stared back up at the ceiling, picturing a beautifully naked Clay in bed with his own pool of come across his stomach. Fuck, he needed to get out of here. And soon.

Because this dream needed to become reality. And fast.


	4. Jess and Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin faces court for the second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Justin's testimony makes references to the night of Jessica's sexual assault.

Justin tried not to squirm or fidget beside the guard as he stood before the entrance to the courtroom. This time, as the shackles bound his hands and feet, he couldn’t help thinking that everything seemed backwards. Okay, maybe it was only because he was entering from the other side, but instead of a suit (Clay’s suit), now he was in all orange—so there could be no hiding from the jury what he really was. A prisoner. An addict. An accessory.

Guilty.

Mrs. Jensen had seen him that morning to prep him for the day. Same shit, different day, it had seemed, at least where it concerned the last time he was in court. She’d said the prosecutor was only interested in him reaffirming his statement and previous testimony, and the defense would again try to cast doubt on what he saw that night and Justin’s true motivations. So far, the defense’s primary play had been to try to paint the picture that Bryce was only acting on good faith. The fucking liar.

“Are they going to ask about Hannah?” Justin had asked.

“No,” Mrs. Jensen had said, a fissure of anger compromising her solemn demeanor, but only just. “The judge sided with the defense and ruled her tapes inadmissible.”

Justin had cursed to himself. “Is Jess gonna be there?”

“She has been every day so far.”

The door opened to reveal the bailiff, who prompted Justin forward. As he entered the courtroom, Justin spotted Bryce at the defense table in his full suit and tie and fake glasses next to his lawyer—with his parents and most of the baseball team in the benches behind him—before looking towards Jessica across the room. She was watching him as he entered, her parents on both sides of her, along with Clay and Mrs. Jensen behind them, and Mrs. Baker, Tony, Alex, Courtney, Zach, Ryan, Scott, and others in the benches behind the prosecution.

Justin tried to narrow his focus on the area immediately ahead of him as he stepped in front of the judge and beside the clerk to be sworn in. The bailiff made way for him to approach the witness stand and Justin sat, wondering briefly how it could feel like only yesterday that he was in this very same shitty spot.

The county lawyer approached the witness stand. “Justin,” he said, “you are currently in custody charged as an accessory related to this case against Bryce, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware that you might be detained by police if you came forward against Mr. Walker?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell us how you had spent the past several months.”

Justin swallowed. “I, I ran away from home. At first, I stayed in cheap motels, trying to stretch the little cash that I had, but I was in a lot of pain.”

“Physical pain?”

“That’s what I told myself—at the beginning. I tried to convince myself it was physical. So I tried pills at first. Pain pills, but they were expensive. I was quickly running out of cash. I eventually gave up on motels and tried my luck on the streets, and that’s where I found a much cheaper option.”

“Heroin, is that correct?”

“Yes. I—”

“Objection, your honor,” interrupted Bryce’s lawyer. “Relevance?”

“Your honor,” said the prosecutor, “I’m merely trying to expand upon Justin’s previous statements already admitted into evidence. His relationship with Bryce is complex, and the jury deserves to see the hold Mr. Walker has on people.”

The judge waved his hand. “Overruled.”

The prosecutor looked back at Justin. “So, you became addicted to heroin, is that correct?”

Justin couldn’t help glancing towards Jessica. She only seemed to pity him. “Yes,” Justin said.

“And how long were you out on the streets?”

“Weeks. As it got closer to winter, I managed to find refuge in public shelters, but—I never stayed in one place for too long. Aside from food, I was also chasing my next fix.”

“How did you come to return to Liberty?”

“Friends,” Justin glanced towards Clay, who seemed sympathetic, “well—they probably were more like frenemies at the time—they found me, and helped me to get clean and find a place to stay. They wanted me to testify in the case against the school.”

“When you say ‘frenemies,’ were these not friends of yours from the basketball team?”

“No, they weren’t. We hadn’t really hung out together. We weren’t really in that same circle.”

“Why had you not decided to come back earlier?”

Justin sighed. “I didn’t believe anyone wanted me around. There, there were a lot of nights I fell asleep just—hoping I wouldn’t wake up. I was betrayed by my best friend. And I let down the person I’d cared for most in the world.” Justin steeled himself, and managed to keep his eyes from looking towards her. Instead, he looked over at Bryce, who seemed unmoved.

“By best friend, you mean Bryce?”

“Yes.”

“How did he betray you?”

“He put me in an impossible position. He did something—so horrible—something that a true friend—any _decent_ person—would never do.”

“Rape Jessica Davis?” the prosecutor asked.

“Objection!”

“Withdrawn,” the prosecutor said, taking a step towards the jury. “Justin, why did it take so long for you to come forward?”

Justin swallowed. “I thought I was protecting Jess at first. Perpetuating the lie. Deep down, I knew what Bryce did, but he was still so deep in my head, I think I managed to convince myself the lie was true. I tried to keep her away from Bryce, but he wouldn’t stay away. When I couldn’t keep lying to her anymore, my worst fear came true. That I’d destroyed what I’d loved most in the world. I’d been trying—desperately—to hang onto her, and what we had. But the truth was, I’d already lost her. I lost her the night I let Bryce into her room.”

The lawyer stepped in front of Justin. “Tell us about that night. What state was Jessica in when you left her?”

“She was out. Asleep.”

“Did you and Jessica enter her room with the intention of sex?”

“I thought it was a possibility.”

“What did you do when she fell asleep?”

“I left the room. And shut the door behind me.”

“Did you try to go back downstairs?”

“Not right away.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to keep watch. Look out for her. Bryce came up and found me a few minutes after I left her room.”

“Why did he come upstairs?”

“He was buzzed. He was trying to get me to come down to play beer pong out in the backyard. He stumbled against me, which caused the door to Jess’s room to open slightly. I shut it quickly, but Bryce must have seen enough. I told him I didn’t want to play beer pong because I was sticking around for Jessica. Because she was wasted.”

“Why did you feel the need to keep watch, Justin? Was it Bryce that you were afraid of?”

“Objection, your honor!”

“Let me rephrase,” the prosecutor cut in. “Who were you trying to look out for?”

Justin glanced towards Bryce again. “I thought it might be Bryce. He—people never really told him ‘no,’ ever. He was used to getting what he wanted. When he started implying how Jess and I must have had fun together when we were in the room, I tried to tell him off when he said he wanted to see.”

“See what?”

“Bryce made for the door, and I stepped in front of him. It was clear to me he wanted to see Jessica—while she was on the bed, asleep.”

“Had you and Jessica engaged in any sexual activity before she fell asleep?”

“We kissed on her bed, that was it. We didn’t get any further than that.”

“So what was it that you were afraid of Bryce to see?”

Justin took a breath. He couldn’t help it this time—he looked over at Jess and could see her eyes welling, but no tears. Yet. “I told Bryce she was my girlfriend. Bryce said she was just a ‘summer hookup.’ I didn’t want him to treat her like just some random girl, like something to be passed around.” His throat began to tighten, and he felt his eyes begin to burn. “But then he said, ‘what’s mine is yours, right?’ and…”

Justin blinked, and could feel a tear glide past his cheek. He sniffed and quickly wiped his eyes.

“What happened, Justin?” the prosecutor said.

Justin blinked again, and another tear fell. “I—I just moved aside. I, I’ve spent months reliving that moment, and it’s almost like I black out when I see Bryce walking through that door and shutting it behind him. Like I’m looking at myself, at this person that I don’t even know, because it felt like years of conditioning, of grooming, of favors and gifts and loyalty—like my entire life came down to that one moment—and I completely failed my test.

“The moment I moved aside for Bryce, it was all over. I didn’t realize it then, not until much later. Even though I burst in and tried to stop him, he was already on top of her, on top of Jess, and it was too late. Bryce shoved me out of the room with his pants already partially undone. I grabbed Bryce and begged him to stop, to not do what he was about to do, but he only pushed me out of the room and shoved me to the ground. After he shut the door again, he locked it—and I knew it was over. My life as I knew it. I was too weak to stop him, and I froze.

“Everything came crashing down then. I just didn’t see it. All I could do from there was try to figure out how to help pick up the pieces.”

The prosecutor looked towards the judge. “No further questions, your honor.”

The judge looked towards Bryce’s attorney. “Would the defense like to cross-examine the witness?”

The defense lawyer stood. “We would, your honor,” he said, approaching the witness stand. “Justin, were you drinking the night of the party, as well?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t drunk. Only buzzed.”

“Before you left the room, did you check on Jessica to make sure she was asleep?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How? Did you try to wake her, or call her name?”

“She passed out right as we were making out. It was obvious to me that she had fallen asleep.”

“So you did not try to wake her, is that correct?”

Justin sniffed and swallowed. “No, I didn’t try to wake her. I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“In your previous testimony, you stated that you heard noises. Did you try to enter the room a second time?”

“No, I did not.”

“Did you believe Jessica was still asleep?”

“I—I wasn’t sure at the time. It’s possible she started to wake up.”

“Did you believe Jessica was in trouble?”

“Yes, I—”

“So if you believed Jessica was under duress, did you try to get help?”

Justin hesitated. “No, I did not.”

Bryce’s attorney looked towards the jury. “No further questions, your honor.”

When the bailiff approached the witness stand, Justin stood. He looked towards Jessica, but she was leaning against her mom. Justin couldn’t tell if she was crying or not.

As the bailiff escorted him out of the courtroom, Justin felt his gut spike with weeks—months—of pent up anxiety, cravings, and remorse. He didn’t think it was possible, but he’d done it. Again. Hurt Jessica. Let her down. Again. When the bailiff handed him off back to his police escort, one thought played over and over again in his head on the way back to juvie.

That he was nothing but a fucking waste of space.

~             ~             ~

Justin was summoned from his last period before recreation hour. He wasn’t totally surprised, although he could have done without having to put on the shackles again for the third time that day. Mrs. Jensen was standing in the visitation room, still in her court outfit from that morning. Justin managed a small smile when he saw her.

“Have you come to tell me that I’ve finally completed my civic duty?”

Mrs. Jensen smiled tightly back at him. “I wish I could. Believe me.” She stepped towards him and hugged him. Justin was surprised by the gesture, but despite the shackles, tried to lean into the hug anyway.

“Was that allowed?” Justin asked as they parted.

“No,” Mrs. Jensen said, shaking her head, “but, they can sue me.”

They sat at the table. “I don’t have any news,” Clay’s mom went on. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“How’s Jessica?”

Mrs. Jensen looked away for a moment, as if cataloging his response for later. “She’s doing all right. Truly.”

“Have they been doing to her what they did to Hannah?”

“No, they haven’t. Like I mentioned this morning, the defense’s strategy so far has been to open up—multiple avenues of interpretation for Bryce’s actions.”

Justin scoffed. “That sounds exactly like what they did to Hannah.”

“True,” Mrs. Jensen said, nodding, “but the defense has been very careful not to demean or attack Jessica.”

“Really? I would have thought Bryce and his folks would go all-in, guns blazing.”

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this case has garnered a lot of media attention. Perhaps not the scrutiny that the trial against the school district had summoned, but I suspect Bryce’s legal team is trying to play for the long game. He’s burned a lot of bridges. The defense is trying to build sympathy for both sides.”

“Is that why his lawyer only asked me like, two questions, today?”

“Yes. You did really well today, Justin. What you saw and what you witnessed isn’t really in dispute, and your testimony is consistent with the narrative depicted by your classmates. What’s at stake for Bryce is not so much a non-guilty verdict, but a conviction for a lesser charge. In fact, the trial may not end with a jury verdict at all. I received word that the county may have started to consider accepting Bryce’s plea bargain, in spite of Jessica’s wishes.”

“What, so, he could just completely get away with it?”

Mrs. Jensen took a moment. “No, not exactly. At this point, Bryce will be held accountable for a crime, but whether the punishment will fit that crime, that remains to be seen. In your case, a conviction for a lesser charge in Bryce’s trial could make less of an impact on your record. Your plea deal does not rest on Bryce’s conviction, but it will go a long way in getting the charge against you down to a misdemeanor.”

Justin vaguely remembered her mentioning how their charges were linked together. He hadn’t really understood it at the time. “So if Bryce gets off, I get off?”

“No. A lesser conviction in Bryce’s case might give me more sway with a judge in securing your release.”

“What happened to the emergency custody thing?”

“The judge has denied my petition each time, but I’m still trying. Other possibilities could open up once Bryce’s trial is concluded.”

He sank back into his chair. “I—I never really thought Bryce getting a lesser conviction could, could help me.” Justin sighed.

Mrs. Jensen leaned towards him across the table. “Justin, I think—I think you’ve suffered a great deal. Whether you think that’s punishment enough for what you did or didn’t do, I don’t know if that’s a question we can really answer. But—I do hope, in time, you can start to forgive yourself. Taking on more of a punishment upon yourself is no way to bring justice—especially, in a perfect world, when that punishment should be rendered upon someone else.”

Wow. Justin wasn’t expecting that from Mrs. Jensen. _That must be where Clay gets it from,_ he thought. “How can I forgive myself, though, when Jess never will?”

Mrs. Jensen reached across and touched his hand. “Jessica has come a long way, and so have you. I think you both deserve a chance at peace. I might even argue, how can she forgive you, if you never forgive yourself?”

~             ~             ~

Justin made straight for his cell when dinner hour began. He told his guard escort he wasn’t up for dinner, and he hadn’t argued with Justin. After the day he’d had, he had to get his head on straight. Or really, just crash. Mrs. Jensen’s words had stuck with him for the rest of the day, and he couldn’t help dwelling on them like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Forgiveness. It had been something Jessica had rebuffed him on over and over again. Not that he had ever blamed her. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since that night he’d agreed to point the finger at Bryce, and with everything that had happened since then—with Clay, and getting arrested—it was another one of those things that he had been actively not-thinking about.

What was this thing with Clay, anyway? Was it—real? Or, was it just a distraction? With so many things to not-think about, Clay’s reaction to his testimony today was something else Justin hadn’t even considered. He remembered that conversation with Clay all those months ago, back when they were still—enemies? frenemies?—and his flat-out denials to Clay still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Did Clay think differently of Justin, now, knowing the truth of that night? How Justin had simply—moved aside for Bryce?

And Jess, now, too. For her to hear the complete and stark detail of his utter failings that night, and to not even have a chance to warn her—because he and Clay had been too busy not talking about the trial and being horny teenagers—Justin felt his stomach nearly lurch. Who was Justin fooling? How could Jess or even Clay want anything to do with him now? He should have told them about that night in person, in private. Not for the first time in an open courtroom for all the world to hear.

Justin wasn’t sure if he could agree with Mrs. Jensen. He couldn’t see how forgiveness could even be on the table at this point.

“Figures you’d be here, _hermano_.”

Justin looked up to see Ren at the open gate to his cell. He had a tray in his hand. On it looked like TV-dinner steak with mash and random veggies.

“Food’s not great tonight,” Ren went on, entering the cell, “but no way you coulda known that if you don’t even look.”

Justin shrugged. “Lucky guess.” Ren sat on the bed and placed the tray in front of Justin, who was sitting against the wall, knees to chest. “Thanks,” Justin said.

“You’re too skinny to skip meals, man. Eat.”

Justin shifted, leaning forward, and began to pick at the food on the tray with the fork. “You here to check up on me, Mr. I-Know-Things?”

“Something like that. What happened to your face?” Ren indicated his own cheek.

“Oh,” Justin said, rubbing his cheek. It barely felt like anything. “I got hit in the face with a basketball. I was being dunked on.”

Ren laughed. “You play, _hermano?”_

Justin managed a grin. “I’m not in as good a shape as I used to be.”

“Even more reason to eat up.” They shared a brief laugh. “So,” Ren said, “I heard you were in court today. How rough was it?”

“Rough.”

Ren made a sympathetic grunt. “Now you’re here, rethinking all your life choices?”

“Possibly,” Justin said, nibbling on a piece of broccoli.

“Well, look on the bright side, no? You’re getting out soon, aren’t you?”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Come on—you did your due diligence. Your lawyer’s trying to spring you. I’d say your luck is about to turn.”

Justin considered Ren for a moment. “You seem to be in a good mood. What’s up?”

Ren chuckled to himself. “My sister came to see me.”

“Oh. Is that—good?”

“Well, she doesn’t usually visit, and when she does, we normally get into an argument, but this time, she brought my niece to see me. It was the first time.”

“Wow,” Justin said, offering a brief smile, “how old is she?”

“Eleven months.”

“So, your sister was pregnant when—all that stuff went down?”

“ _Si, señor_. So, I can’t really say the dad is out of the picture for good, but he’s paying child support, so I can’t really hold anything against him for the time being.”

“What’s her name?”

“Eliza,” Ren said, beaming. “And she is the cutest thing.”

Justin managed a few bites of the steak. “So that—didn’t bring you down?” Justin asked. “Not being able to see her?”

Ren shrugged. “I mean, yeah, kinda, but I take what I can get.”

“So, you’re not—afraid of, afraid of getting out?”

“You afraid of your former best friend coming after you?”

“No, not him. He’s not the one I’m afraid of facing.”

“Your girl?”

Justin swallowed some of the mash. It was watery and tasteless. “She’s—she’s not my girl anymore, but yeah.”

“Well, you can’t hide out in here for the rest of your life. I know where you’re coming from, though. My sister told me she’s been putting money aside for a lawyer, trying to help me. I’ve been telling her, nah, put that money towards my baby niece, but she don’t listen, you know.”

“So you could be getting out, too?”

Ren laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but—yeah, it’s a possibility.”

“That’s great,” Justin offered.

“Yeah. It’s funny, you know, how your perspective on things can change. My sister apologized to me for the first time, for not—sticking up for me, more. And you know what’s even funnier?”

“What?”

“I forgave her. I mean, she’s not the reason I’m in here, but she didn’t necessarily help me _not_ wind up in here, so yeah, I guess she shares some of the blame. But I never blamed her for my choices. I think she needed to hear me say it more than anything else.

“With your girl, ex-girl, whatever—I don’t know her, and I don’t know the whole story, but I think people can really surprise you, especially when their perspective changes. She’s standing up to her attacker, and you’ve helped her with that. She knows that, and I think it means more to her than she might be letting on.”

Justin was quiet for a few moments. After taking another bite of the steak, he said, “This is really terrible.”

They laughed. “Yeah, I know,” Ren said, “but like I said, _hermano_ , you’re too skinny to skip meals! Eat, eat!”

“Okay, okay!”

After Justin worked through most of the food on the tray, Ren stood up. “Come on, they got peach cobbler for desert. That will make up for all the shitty food today—believe me.”

Justin took the tray and followed Ren out of his cell. He had to admit it—Justin did feel better with a little food in his stomach.

“I hope this doesn’t come across too harsh,” Justin said as they walked towards the cafeteria, “but, why have you been so nice to me?”

Ren shrugged. “Well, you helped me, in an indirect way. You helped put things in perspective. As shitty as I thought I had it, you made me realize, there’s this white boy who’s got it worse than me.” He laughed and patted Justin on the back.

Justin laughed with him. “I’m glad my misery has helped somebody, at least.”

“Seriously, _hermano,_ you’re gonna be all right. I got a feeling.”

“And have your feelings panned out, usually?”

Ren thought for a moment. “In here? Yeah, they have. Out there—not so much. So you on your own when you finally do get sprung.”

As they entered the cafeteria, Justin marveled at Ren’s words. How perspectives could change, indeed. For the first time since his lockup, Justin was no longer afraid of staying in here. Now, he was afraid of getting out. How backwards was that?

No, perhaps that wasn’t really what he was afraid of. If—if Jessica could forgive him, could it be possible… Would they ever have a shot again?

But Clay… Fuck. Of everything Justin had been not-thinking about…

How was he going to choose?

Was he gonna have to choose?

Between Jess?

And Clay?


	5. Outcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin learns of the result of the trial against Bryce.

“The lawyers finally agreed to a plea deal, right before Jessica was supposed to testify yesterday. Instead of the felony rape charge, the county accepted Bryce’s guilty plea to misdemeanor sexual battery. Sentencing is tomorrow.”

Clay had sat and had begun talking right as Justin had brought the phone to his ear. Mrs. Jensen had seen Clay off, yielding the chair to him like their last visit. Looking through the glass at Clay, Justin couldn’t think of what to say with the deluge of tough information.

“So the trial’s over?”

“Yes. Honestly, my mom thinks the result would’ve been the same, anyway, had it actually gone to the jury.”

“Shit,” was all Justin could manage.

“Yeah,” Clay said, giving a flat smile. An obvious mask for his anger. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What does that charge even mean?”

“Well, what it _doesn’t_ mean is hard time. Or any time, really, which is what the original rape conviction would’ve carried. Now, Bryce could simply get anywhere from probation, or a fine.” 

Justin looked towards the counter between them. They were quiet for a moment.

“I’m really sorry,” Justin eventually uttered.

Clay softened his expression. “No, you—I’m not pissed at you. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I?” Justin said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Honestly, I’m surprised you still came—after what I said in court last week.”

Shaking his head, Clay said, “You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. Or guessed. Bryce is the one that put you in that impossible situation.” Justin could see his face start to redden. “He’s the one that should be in here,” Clay went on, “not you.”

“I’m not sure I would agree with you. About me not deserving to be in here, I mean.”

Clay seemed to deflate. “Justin, don’t—”

“What about Jess? How is she?” Justin kept his eyes down. He couldn’t bear to see Clay like this right now.

“Honestly, I think she’s doing better than I thought she would. She’s been saying she hadn’t been expecting a conviction at all, so to have him be hit with _something_ that’s going to stick—it’s helped her a lot.”

“How did they treat her in court?”

“About the same as you. I think my mom mentioned a little about it to you, right? The defense was really trying to play up sympathy for Bryce, so they didn’t attack her at all. Not like—not like with Hannah and the school. My mom’s said the prosecution has really had the upper hand this whole time.”

Justin sighed. “And all Bryce is gonna get is just a slap on the wrist, still.” 

“Justin, could we—I don’t wanna talk about the trial anymore. Can we talk about something else?”

He met Clay’s eyes. “Yeah, shit, sorry.”

Jensen shook his head. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It must be killing you, not knowing, and you deserve to be kept in the loop, but I just—I didn’t want to spend our whole time together talking about the trial.”

“What else did you want to talk about?”

“Well—about, what you said earlier, about deserving to be in here, and what my mom’s already talked to you about, too.”

Justin gazed at Clay for a moment. “Forgiveness?”

“Yeah, something like that. Look, I—I can only imagine how much harder it is in here, but you can’t let this continue to eat away at you. You’re starting to become even skinnier than I am.” Justin let out a brief laugh. “Yeah, it was tough to hear,” Clay went on, “but Jessica was really okay after your testimony. I haven’t, you know, been—actively trying to press her on it like you asked, but, I’ve been keeping her in the loop whenever she’s asked. And she has asked about you a few times.”

“Has she really?”

“Yes. And I’ve—pretty much been telling her what I’ve seen.”

“Clay, I’ve—”

“I think she will forgive you, if she hasn’t already. Hell, I’ve long forgiven you—I don’t know if you’ve been dwelling on it—for Hannah, for being one of her reasons.”

“Well, technically, I was on two of her tapes.”

Clay shook his head. “And I had a tape, too!” 

“No, Clay—you never really counted. She said so.”

“I know, I know. The point is, I’ve forgiven you—I forgive you. And that’s really more for me, too, as much as it is for you. Hannah isn’t here to do it, so, someone has to.”

Justin tried to swallow again. The lump in his throat just wouldn’t go away. “For all the fucked-up shit I did—and didn’t—do, you could really forgive me?”

“Yes,” Clay said, blinking a tear from his eye. He quickly wiped it from his cheek and looked away. “So would Jessica, too. I really believe that.” 

“Clay,” Justin began.

Clay sniffed. “I just wish I could do the same for Hannah.” 

“What—what do you mean?”

The boy sniffed again, rubbing another tear from his eye. “The Bakers asked me to speak at Hannah’s service. They’d asked me a while ago but it’s finally coming up and I just—I don’t know what I’m gonna say.” 

“When is it?”

“This Friday. The day before the ‘Spring Fling’ dance.”

Justin sighed. “Shit.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve done a terrible job with keeping you posted on the outside world.”

“No, don’t apologize for that—this all isn’t on you, all right? We never get enough time each week. Look, it makes sense the Bakers would ask you. Out of all of us, you would definitely be the one to do her justice. You knew her best.”

Clay sniffled again. “See, but I _didn’t_ know her best! And I know I’m being a hypocrite talking to you about forgiveness when I can’t even bring myself to do the same for Hannah. How am I supposed to help everyone else find closure when—I barely have it myself?”

Justin felt a tear fall down his cheek. He could feel the buzzer ready to spring at any second. Fuck, did he hate this place. “Well, you said it yourself, didn’t you? Forgiveness is as much for you as it is for everyone else. Are you afraid of, disappointing her, or something?”

“Kind of. I’m afraid I won’t be able to say what I need to say without being angry. And I’m afraid that—if, once I finally do let go, I’ll forget her.”

The buzzer rang, and Justin heard the phone line click off. He wanted to scream. For fuck’s sake, not like this. He saw the tears still welling in Clay’s eyes and, desperate, Justin turned to the guard stationed by the door just a few stalls down. He looked back at Clay and mouthed, “Wait!” before standing and shuffling over to the guard as quickly as the shackles would allow.

“Please,” Justin cried out as the other inmates turned to look at him, “please, I need to tell him something important!” He stopped short as the guard reached for something on her belt, so he clasped his hands together. “Please, just two more minutes, I’m begging you!”

The guard merely shook her head. She looked over at Clay, and back at Justin, with a reluctant expression on her face. “Sorry,” she eventually said, “can’t override the system. I can pass the message on for you. The best I can do.”

Justin looked back and spotted Clay through the glass above the stalls. He was shaking his head.

Swallowing, Justin let a few tears fall freely as he spoke. “Tell Clay—tell him, he’d know what Hannah would want. Better than anyone else. He’ll come through for her, whatever he decides to do.”

The guard left the room as another guard entered and ordered everyone to line up. Justin watched as the first guard approached Clay, and after she appears to speak to him for a moment, Clay looked back towards Justin and nodded, holding up his hand. The second guard yelled for Justin’s attention, and ordered him to line up. Justin obeyed, and looked to see Mrs. Jensen collect Clay and leave the visitor’s lobby.

Justin managed to hold himself together as the guards escorted everyone back to the cell block, but he couldn’t stop the agonizing hollowness carving out the inside of his chest. If he didn’t get out of this place soon, he honestly had no clue what he would do. He had to get out. He was ready now. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

He was ready to love Clay fucking Jensen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...
> 
> As an aside, Brandon Flynn posted to his insta that principal photography had wrapped for season 3, and he seemed to imply that he expected this to be the last time, saying goodbye to "justy." *sobs*


End file.
